


Female Drow x Female Reader

by LesbianMonsterLover



Category: Monster Girls | Monster Boys, Original Work
Genre: Dry Humping, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Smut, Useless Lesbians, Vaginal Fingering, a little angsty, but not really, fast burn in text, slow burn in universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 22:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianMonsterLover/pseuds/LesbianMonsterLover
Summary: What’s that?  Tales of Drow being fallen evil high elves is shitty racist light elf propaganda?I had to drop everything and make this because that’s sometimes how my shitty brain works. I describe some of what you wear in this, I try hard not to do it usually but this particular idea is self indulgent AF and I’m doing what I want today.  Can I call it self care?





	Female Drow x Female Reader

When you bought the little storefront that was going to be your knitting shop, having prepared and pitched and toiled towards this goal for years, you didn’t really give much thought to the tattoo parlor across the street. It was a sleek and modern looking shop, with darkened windows you’d assume for the privacy of the patrons within and stainless steel detailing. It was frequented by a colorful multitude of patrons, although unsurprisingly the furrier of the denizens of your neighborhood never seemed to enter. Orcs were an especially large number, so you guessed they likely had a good or well known orc tattoo artist in the place. Orc tattoos contained a lot of symbolism, despite their simple appearance, so an orc would never go for a traditional style tattoo from anyone outside of their culture. 

It took almost a month for the shop to be ready to open. That day would be tomorrow, so today you’re busy reviewing inventory, making sure the shop is easily navigable and looks presentable. Thankfully you had enough of an online presence in the knitting world before opening shop that there was a little bit of buzz surrounding your first day. You didn’t expect to be packed, but hopefully it would help send a steady stream of customers your way in the form of both local regulars and visitors passing through. 

The shop is setup shotgun style; so while it’s a touch on the narrow side it goes all the way through to the other side of the city block out into a little back alley. You have two tables setup to allow people to sit and knit in store, offering a cozy atmosphere. The first is close to the front, just by the bookshelf stuffed full of pattern books and singles. The second is in the back of the store, surrounded on three sides by huge floor to ceiling shelves packed to the brim with yarns of various weights, colors, materials, and textures. You’ve knit up a fair number of swatches over the past few weeks, showing the texture and hang of each yarn type in both garter and stockinette stitch. With your favorites you even managed to whip up a garment or two, nothing overly fancy but a cropped sweater here and a cable scarf there made everything seem homier. 

You’re wearing a sweater of your own, you call it your good luck sweater. It’s the first one you ever designed yourself start to finish, it’s the sweater that started your career in fact. You published the pattern for it on a whim and before you knew it you were making knitting patterns for a living and now you got to own your own whole store. The sweater is in a soft pastel purple, and it hangs loose off one shoulder at the top. It’s baggy at the sleeves and chest, but has a tight six inch cuff at the wrist and hem giving it some shape and drama. The cropped look is exaggerated with how loose it is at the bust before cinching in, and you’ve paired it with high waisted dark wash shorts and lavender high top shoes. 

You’ve got your bag slung over your shoulder and a coffee in one hand as you fumble with your keys and unlock the door, an hour before open. You don’t notice the form across the street smoking a cigarette in the shadows staring at you openly. They’ve seen you around the last few weeks, surprised to see something as wholesome and clean cut as a knitting store going in across from their shop. It isn’t that they were against it, but most people thought of the neighborhood as ‘bad’ because of the tattoo parlor and the high concentration of nonhuman residents. If this cute human wanted to hang around nearby though, they weren’t about to complain. They may be covered in ink and own a tattoo parlor, but there was something about the innocent look that really did it for them. Still, humans aren’t to be trusted, at least not so fast. It doesn’t matter that they look cute and radiate kindness, humans can disguise themselves as well as any fae can sometimes.

Oblivious to all of this you rush around making sure the shop is ready before flipping the sign to open and taking a deep breath. Your first customer comes ten minutes later, the second trickling in only five minutes after that. It becomes a steady stream, the store not too packed but with a comfortable number of people browsing and interacting. You’ve had inquiries about classes, and you think you’re probably going to have to start offering those sooner than you had planned. There’s already a sweet pair of older orc ladies sitting at the front table with their tea and yarn, one working on a crocheted baby blanket for the newest addition to her family, her first great grandchild. The other is doing a bit of spinning, and together they seem to bring a homey and maternal atmosphere to the shop that makes your nonhuman customers feel comfortable. 

“I hope you don’t mind us sitting here honey, we were just so thrilled to have a local shop. If we’re in the way just let us know, we don’t want to be any trouble.” The woman working on her blanket has placed it down to look at you seriously, but warmly, and you place one of your hands over the gnarled green skin of her own with a bright smile. 

“I was just thinking of how homey you two make it feel in here. Please, I’d love it if you’d stay.” She pats your hand with a bright smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Such a sweet girl. Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind I think you’ll be seeing a lot of the two of us, and maybe a few of our friends.” You assure them with a smile that you’d love that and you introduce yourself by name, letting them know they should please come and ask for anything if they need help. “I’m Burna sweetheart and that’s Jerra, she’s deaf but she can read lips as long as she’s got her glasses on.” Jerra smiles and waves, she seems to be the older of the two. Even as hunched as she is at her age she’s still huge, both of them actually are easily over six feet tall and quite broad.

You leave them to their own devices, and the day goes by in a blur. Burna and Jerra stay until close, and you’re almost sad to see them go. “If you don’t mind, dear, I’d love to bring our knitting circle here on Wednesday. I want to make sure our friends know you’re a good one.” She gives you a wink and a smile, you knows she’s referring to the tenseness of human and nonhuman relationships. You let her know you’re looking forward to it, and they’re welcome to bring lunch or order takeout so long as they’re careful with the stock. 

The grandmotherly kiss Burna and Jerra each drop on your cheek makes you smile like a kid and hug each of them firmly. Those eyes from across the street are watching you again curiously. Humans were still wary of other races for the most part, especially races that were stereotyped as naturally violent or evil. So to see this cute, soft looking human hug two intimidating orc matriarchs like they weren’t able to tear her head from her spine with no problem was almost hilarious. 

When she flicks the butt of her cigarette into the waiting collection bin and pushes off the shaded wall to step back into the shop you get your first glimpse of her. She’s tall and slender, and her midnight dark skin is covered in pale tattoos, an interesting contrast you’ve never seen before and isn’t possible with human technology you think. She’s got a lip ring and a septum piercing, her white hair is shorn into a masculine haircut, revealing incredibly long and pointed ears run through with a multitude of rings each. A drow. You’ve never seen a drow in person before, as they so rarely came to the surface anyway and never interacted with humans or human-associated races (mostly high elves, wood elves, and halflings) if it was at all avoidable. So you did what you always do when you see a new person you want to know. You gave her a big smile and a wave, giggling a little to yourself when her brows knot together in confusion. She returns your wave with a cool and unaffected look, schooling her face back into a placid cast as she turns back into the shop, effectively dismissing you. 

Burna and Jerra are true to their word and come in two days later with a full group of older nonhuman women. Another orc, Nera, two gnolls, Rris and Raat, and a harpy, Thyla. You get them all settled at the front table with a warm smile. The new women are giving you cool and wary looks, but you’re too busy chatting happily with Burna to notice. “Oh sweetie did you make this one too?” You smile and nod, chatting happily about the knit tank top you’ve got on and how hard it was to find a yarn that would hang right but not have to be knit on size two needles. 

You’re complimenting Burna on the blanket she’s finishing and giving her some advice on edge detailing when she asks your opinion. The other women are eyeing you curiously now, you seem to be genuinely accepting not just fearful, and you aren’t even pushing them to purchase anything despite them taking up an entire table in your shop. 

You give the rest of the table a big smile again, telling them to make themselves comfortable and find you if they need anything. Their conversation is low at first but eventually they reach a comfortable level and continue on like they would normally at one of their houses. You don’t even notice how many more nonhuman customers you’re getting in place of the humans that had shown up the first two days, you’re just happy to be working your way towards becoming a neighborhood fixture. 

Over the next six months Burna’s knitting circle had claimed the front table of your shop as theirs two days a week. You were happy they were comfortable enough in your shop and with you to want to spend that much time there, and they both purchased enough and brought in enough business that you’d have to have been a fool to balk at the arrangement. You saw the drow woman from across the street occasionally, she’d always scowl at you or regard you with that emotionless stare, but you’d still just smile and give her a friendly little wave. Not everyone was going to like you, and that’s okay. The ladies at your shop were more than enough for you, and you’d even become friendly with one of Burna’s granddaughters who was coming in for knitting lessons from you since Burna exclusively crocheted.

Yasril was not used to seeing the same human so regularly. Sure, her shop got the occasional human client, but Yas herself refused to tattoo them. She was definitely not used to humans smiling and waving at her whenever she had to go out into the world. Most humans regarded Drow with the same cold suspicion light elves always had, and bought into that light elf bullshit that drow were corrupted elves who had at some point in the past devoted themselves to darkness and evil, as is evident based on their corrupted skin. Racist bullshit. So you confused her. She was especially confused as to why the council of matriarchs for this neighborhood had taken to hanging out in your store while you doted on them like you were a daughter. You took a lot of liberties, but didn’t seem to know it. Always hugging them and touching hands, feeding them, she couldn’t believe it when you shyly offered them all some feast day treats that you had tried your hand at. The biggest surprise was how much the women liked them, even though they weren’t perfect the fact that you tried without overstepping boundaries was more than enough. 

When she started watching you she told herself it was because she couldn’t trust you and she needed to make sure her neighborhood remained a safe space. The broker looking to sell the space had outright admitted on the phone one day that they were hoping the neighborhood would gentrify and bring more human money in because it would be good for their business. Yasril was therefore totally justified in being concerned that you might be of the same mindset, but that excuse really only stuck for the first month or two. After that, she didn’t really have a reason to watch you, she just...did. Sure she wraps it up in excuses, being worried that some of the less friendly nonhumans would want to drive you out (not true, considering how the matriarchs of all of the major clans had decided to take you under their wing), being worried that some bigoted humans would come attack you for being a race traitor (a slightly more realistic conern, but you’re so deep into a nonhuman neighborhood they wouldn’t make it far with those kind of intentions), but underneath mostly just being worried that you’ll leave for some other reason she can’t control and the neighborhood would lose your brightness. 

She’s started drawing tattoos for you. The first one came after a night of heavy drinking with her goblin twin shop managers. The sketch she woke up to was sloppy, but a bouquet of red aster and delphinium with the words ‘for my human’ sloppily scrawled across the bottom of the cocktail napkin. She wanted to throw it away but couldn’t bring herself to for whatever reason. By now though she’s drawn an entire garden for you, and she can’t even bring herself to speak to you. How pathetic. 

Then she runs into you in the grocery store. You had sort of figured the drow woman was almost like an ethereal spirit. She haunted her tattoo shop and the space outside of it, but never ventured elsewhere. At least, you had never seen her elsewhere until you had a particularly bad night. Sometimes, being an adult means you get to go out at three AM to buy a pint of ice cream to cry into. 

Yasril clocks you when she glances up as the automatic door opens. You’re in some loose pajamas, pastel colored and printed with cute rainbows, and you have a hugely oversized pink hoodie on with a care-bear stomach printed on the front. You’re wearing fucking bunny slippers, and Yasril is pretty sure you’re the cutest fucking thing she’s ever seen. 

Your eyes are puffy, having been crying in your sleep, and you’re still giving the occasional sniffle as you walk into the 24 hour grocery store a block away from your apartment. You wipe at your eyes again with the sleeve of your sweatshirt as you wander towards the frozen aisle for ice cream. Yasril notices your face and scowls, wondering who she’s going to have to have a chat with. 

When you turn the corner to head for the register you see the drow woman from the shop across the street. She’s scowling at you, and you don’t have the emotional energy in you to smile and wave like you usually would. You don’t know the heartbroken look you’re giving her, but it makes her guts twist. With a brief sigh you finish the trek to the cash register, giving the goblin behind the machine your money and a small ‘thank you’ as she hands you your change. 

You’re just out the door and a few paces out from the shop when a light breathy voice calls after you. “Wait…” You glance behind your shoulder, the drow from the tattoo parlor jogging lightly to catch up with you. “Hey, uh, you’re from the knitting shop.” She doesn’t pose it as a question, but you nod anyway. “You...you okay? Someone giving you trouble?” She’s looking at you seriously, and you scoff, looking away and upping your pace. 

“Just a bad night.” Your voice is quiet but rough with tears and sleep. She scowls again, scrutinizing. You wince and curl in on yourself. “Listen, I know you don’t like me, it’s fine, not everyone is going to. So, you don’t have to fake it, I’m not going to judge you.” The look you give her is tired, bags under your eyes and followed with a sad, pained smile. “I get it, humans are trash, I wish you’d give me a chance but it’s not like I’ve done anything to deserve it. I invaded your space kind of, I understand, really, I’ll stay out of your way.”

Yasril stands still watching you walk away. Any other human and she’d see that as an attempt at guilting her for her feelings, but you’re not just any human. It’s precisely because she knows how sincere you’re being, that you truly do understand her wariness and that you don’t push yourself on her at all, that she feels even a little guilty that you think she doesn’t like you. She didn’t at first, not really, sure you were cute but you were still fundamentally a human and from her experience not to be trusted. It was still hard for her to reconcile internally how much she liked you as an individual with how much she, rightfully, distrusted the majority of humans. 

She doesn’t chase after you, you don’t expect her to anyway. By the time she processes what you’ve said you’re already on the next block and she’s abandoned her grocery shopping partway through to head home and do some soul searching. When she sees you by your shop the next Monday the smile you give her is less cheerful but still ever present. You’re perfectly cordial with her, and from any other human she’d consider that a victory. She hates what it seems like she’s killed in you though, and the worried doting of Burna on you when she stops in makes Yasril nervous. 

It isn’t that she thinks you’d tell on her, but she does know that Burna has her ways of making people tell her what she wants to know. So when the older Orc woman stalks across the street to the tattoo shop and comes in to fix Yasril with a withering glare, Yas knows that Burna won. Burna just gives the long-suffering sigh that can only come with a century of life at whatever she sees in Yas’ eyes and gruffly tells Yasril to sit. The Orc matriarch standing in front of her, hands on hips and stern scowl on green face, makes Yasril shrink in her chair like a cowed child. “You and I both know why you keep starin’ at the girl, Yas. If you want to not fuck this up I’m going to suggest you get that girl some flowers - of the HUMAN courting variety - and ask her on a date before she’s convinced that you hate her and thinks of your offer as a joke.” 

Yasril can’t even deny it, Burna is just too good at what she does. Burna does at least huff out an affectionate laugh and clap Yasril on the shoulder. “If it makes the process any easier you already know there won’t be objections from us. You’re free to begin courting our way too if that’s what makes you happy.” Yasril had felt more at home in this little enclave neighborhood than she ever had in the underdark, and knowing that the family approved did actually lift a weight from her shoulders. Knowing that the approval of the matriarchs ran that deep, she could maybe finally start admitting to even herself that her interest in you ran deeper than mere passing attraction. 

Deep red aster and carnation, pink gladiola, blue hyacinth, with white Queen Anne’s lace. Love, patience, fidelity, ardent attachment, sanctuary. Yasril prepared a bouquet that was so beautiful and meaningful even if you didn’t know the language of flowers you’d have to hear the message somehow anyway. She’s standing at the bench of the flower shop run by an intimidating minotaur where she first worked on the surface. “Yas, if you stand there glaring at the card any longer it’s going to catch on fire.” Turin’s voice is like rocks in a tumblr, low gravel that resonates sonorously throughout the little shop. Yasril sighs, quickly scrawling something on the card in her loopy script. Turin just chuckles and refuses payment when Yasril pulls out a credit card. “If you’re giving a bouquet like this to someone? No, sorry, can’t take your payment.” 

She’s afraid of your reaction, so she sets the bouquet down gently on the front step of your shop and waits for you to arrive for work. When you show up you’re confused by the bouquet of flowers, but they’re beautiful and make you blush. You and your bag make the journey through to your little office in the back of the shop, flowers cradled in one arm, and after dropping your things unceremoniously to the floor you eagerly snatch out the little card and flip it open. ‘I don’t hate you. -Y’ 

You’re suddenly thankful for the flower arrangement elective you took in college, you’re hopeful that she knew what this bouquet conveyed. The combination of flowers would be odd to someone who didn’t know the message they were sending, so that gave you some hope. You place the flowers in a big empty coffee can - mentally noting to get a vase or two for the shop to keep more flowers out after seeing how good the bouquet looks in the middle of the table at the front of the shop. When Burna comes in with the rest of the girls that day she glances between you and the flowers before quirking an eyebrow and giving a knowing smile. 

Your answering blush was enough for her and she just laughed, throwing you an approving smile. That little interaction was enough that when you stopped for your lunch break - thankful to have hired two people to help out at the shop now - you stopped by the little cafe around the corner for two coffees before nervously walking into the tattoo shop across the street. 

The atmosphere inside is dark and relaxing, although there’s bright light coming from behind several sets of curtains that close off the entrance to little private rooms. The receptionist, a thin, short goblin man run through with what looks like several pounds of gold rings in various places, gives you knowing smirk. He doesn’t say anything to you, but leaves his eyes locked with yours as he calls out “Yas!” You only look away when the soft hiss of a curtain being drawn over a curtain rod is followed by the appearance of the tall drow woman. She isn’t looking at you, still focused on the notebook in her hand. “Got a visitor Yasril.” 

The drow you now know as Yasril looks up from her book with a quirked brow before her face goes slack when she sees you. Your smile is almost painfully shy to her, but it looks hopeful right now instead of sad. She can’t say anything but the way her lips part in surprise and then snap shut makes you giggle a little. 

From this close you can see that her eyes are an icy pale lavender, the same color as that sweater you wore to open your shop the first day. You offer up a coffee with a hopeful expression. “I got your flowers…” You think she’s blushing, you aren’t sure if you can tell just yet but the way that the goblin behind the desk snickers tells you she might be. “I was hoping maybe you’d want to have lunch with me?” 

Yasril scoffs but takes the coffee, looking at you with an embarrassed expression. “Coffee isn’t lunch. Come on then I’m buying.” She throws the sketchbook down on the reception desk and you think you catch a glimpse of a familiar looking bouquet but before you can focus on that you’re totally distracted by the feeling of her slender hand at your lower back guiding you out of the shop. The walk is quiet, no conversation just sipping coffee. The two of you make the short walk back to the cafe you’d gotten the to-go coffee from, and the faun behind the counter gives the two of you a confused but happy stare. Yasril still has on her sunglasses, eyes sensitive to the bright light outside during the day, even inside the cafe because the windows aren’t tinted. 

“Thank you again for the flowers. They were really meaningful…” You give Yasril a knowing look, relishing in the way her face goes from blank to embarrassed. The differences would be hard to spot, a certain tightness in her eyes, the undertone of her night-black skin going to a rich warm color. She glances away from you, taking a drink of coffee to cover her nerves. The faun comes to take your order, and before you can talk about it Yasril pays for both of you and continues to pointedly look down at her paper cup of coffee while blushing. 

“I’m glad you liked the bouquet. I arranged it myself.” Only now does she glance back up at you, those cool eyes having dropped the facade to reveal some roiling emotions within. It makes you blush in turn, and she smiles a little at that, just a quirk of her lips at the corner. The words traded back and forth over sandwiches are quiet and far between, although she’s the most expressive when you compliment her on her tattoos, an almost iridescent white against her inky skin. Spiders and geometric designs climbing what you can see of her arms, and an inscription in what you’d guess is her native language proudly etched across her collar bones. 

“The ink is my own design, based off of ritual tattoo materials found in the underdark. Considering our coloring, we can’t use traditional inks. I mean, black literally doesn’t show up on our skin, I tried it when I came to the surface. So, I worked at Turin’s flower shop while I formulated and tested and practiced my inks.” You’ve never seen her so animated, and she looks so relaxed and happy as she’s speaking you want her to always feel like this. Without really thinking you reach out and trail a fingertip over a realistically rendered glowing spider leg. She stiffens at the contact but when you move to pull your hand away she quickly snakes out and grips at your wrist with her slender fingers. Her grip isn’t tight, you could pull away easily if you wished, but she looks so astonished that you had even touched her, so cautiously hopeful, that you don’t pull back. Instead you lay your palm flat along the underside of her forearm your shorter fingers splayed against her slender wrist.

She smiles at you then, not just a quirk of the lips but a slowly blooming private thing that gently grows across her face. She worries the ring in her lip a little nervously but you just give her a reassuring squeeze with your hand. The rest of lunch is silent, but a comfortable silence that settles over the two of you like a warm blanket. You both eat one handed, unwilling to lose contact with one another just yet. There will be time later for conversation and mutual understanding. Right now and here, this was perfect as is. 

Yasril walks you back to your shop, thumbing affectionately over your cheek before walking back across the street to her own. When you walk back into the store blushing Burna is waiting with her hands clasped under her chin and sparkling eyes. She bellows out and lifts you into a positively rib-crushing hug. You’re set down at the ladies’ table and given your own cup of tea while you’re peppered with questions. You answer them all good naturedly, a light blush on your cheeks as they press about the flowers, the coffee, the date, everything. They seem genuinely happy and excited for both of you. “Oh Darling I knew you were special from day one!” Burna is affectionately rubbing her cheek against your head like a cat. “Even I couldn’t have predicted you and Yasril though, oh you two are going to make such a cute couple!” 

You and Yasril meet for lunch daily from then on, and it’s three weeks of daily lunches before you ask her to come over for dinner. You’re dressed in that same purple sweater from the day you opened shop, your good luck sweater, and a pair of dark wash jeans. Yasril looks unbelievably dangerous and gorgeous when you open the door after her tentative knock. Her long, slender legs are clad in skintight black jeans, sitting low on her hips across the protrusion of her hip bones. She’s got on a white strappy crop top and a black leather jacket, you can see her navel piercing and the line of flowers she’s got extending from one hip to the other across her flat stomach. Her short white hair has been freshly cut and styled, and she’s placed in some of her favorite earrings. She looks devastating.

You smile widely up at her and she gives you a cool but happy look back. You’ve gotten better at reading her seemingly blank face. You now what the quirk of this or that muscle means, how her eyes flash with unchecked emotion whenever you do anything the finds particularly cute or alluring. She grabs your hand as she walks through your apartment door, lifting it to her lips to press a kiss to your palm. You cup her cheek happily and she holds your hand to her face, looking down at you with a new and unreadable expression. It’s soft and warm, gentle, and you can’t help but slide forward to wrap your other arm up and around her shoulders and pull her into a hug. 

Yasril cups the back of your head gently, leaning down to press your foreheads together and slide her nose along yours. With your eyes locked together she closes the gap, smiling against your lips when your lids flutter closed and you respond to her so willingly. The first swipe of her tongue against your lips and you open before her like the bud of a flower. Dinner is forgotten on the table, thankfully off the stove so you don’t have to worry about burning down the building as she gently walks you back to your couch before laying out over you. 

Your hands find the soft skin of her waist exposed by her crop top, and she chuckles against your lips as you begin to desperately palm and stroke her hot skin. She breaks the kiss to lick a hot stripe up the side of your neck, quickly cooling in the exposed room air. “You’re so fucking cute. Do you know what it does to me?” Her voice is still light but surprisingly husky and rough with desire. Her lavender eyes are burning, white teeth flashing behind dark lips. Your plaintive answering whimper has her bark out a disbelieving laugh before attacking the exposed junction of your neck and shoulder with kisses and love bites. When your fingers thread through her snow white hair and tug, pulling her closer and baring your neck submissively up, she growls against your skin. 

“Too fucking cute, so soft…” She’s almost mumbling to herself, nosing up your neck and biting at your thrumming pulse. “If we do this tonight, bunny, you’re mine. Only mine.” Her eyes are shining and hot, and you can see the sharp point of one canine digging into her plump lower lip. You don’t answer with words, just leaning up to capture her lips passionately with your own. When you pull back she growls out your name and starts to lick and bite down the column of your throat. Slowly her hands push up your waist and under the hem of your sweater. Her palms are soft and hot, slowly pushing the fuzzy material of your sweater up and over your head. Your black lace bra matches the panties under your jeans, and she chuckles huskily as her fingertips trace the edge of your bra cup. 

“Oh bunny, you’re so beautiful.” Yasril places a soft, open mouthed kiss at your sternum before trailing her hot tongue along the edge of the fabric. Reverently and slowly she kisses down between your breasts and over your stomach as she unbuttons your jeans and tugs them down over your legs. Laid out before her on the couch in nothing but your underwear she knows then she’s found her true muse. Her hands skate up your thighs, gripping at your hips and pressing a slender leg between your own. Her kisses are intoxicating, and her gentle hands slowly divest you of the rest of your clothing leaving you naked beneath her. 

Her leather jacket is tossed over the arm of the couch and she tugs off her crop top, showing you she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the garment, her small perky breasts bare to the cool air of your apartment. She’s covered in tattoos from collarbone down as far as you can see, your favorite might be a bright white peony blooming from under the waist of her skinny jeans. 

When your fingertips caress the tattoo her hips press closer to you and she groans. She hooks one of your legs around her waist, the rough fabric of her jeans pressed against your bare vulva. “I can’t wait to have you below me just like this...ruined and begging for me, to go faster, to let you cum. You always look so fucking cute and innocent.” She licks hotly along your shoulder and gives an aggressive thrust against you making you whimper. 

Yasril moves your hips along her jean covered ones, rubbing and caressing your clit and labia with the rough fabric as she brings you close to your first orgasm. “Let go bunny, come on I wanna see what cute face you make when you cum.” She’s working you methodically and it doesn’t take long for you to whimper and cling tighter, calling out her name as you’re brought to your first peak gently. You think that must be it but she simply pushes one of your legs up by the back of your knee, exposing you fully to her gaze. 

At some point as you were coming down Yasril stripped off her pants and panties, straddling your bare thigh with her own and rubbing her own core against the soft skin of your leg. Her free hand, the one not holding your leg up, cups your mound and gives it a squeeze, groaning at how plush your flesh is. Two of her fingers slip between your labia and begin stroking in time with the movement of her hips on your thigh. You cry out her name when she slowly sinks two of those long fingers inside you, twisting and scissoring as she begins to pump in and out of your tunnel. “That’s it bunny, you’re so good, so wet for me huh? Make more of those cute noises and I’m gonna make you feel even better.” Her praises tear a choked whimper from you as you clench tighter around her. 

Her thumb strokes your clit and her fingers speed up inside you, so do her hips on your leg. She’s panting over you, angling her hips to drag her clit just so against your skin, she’s getting close to release herself. Her fingers are setting a frantic pace inside of you to match that of her hips. “Come for me baby, come with me. I wanna come together.” Her voice has gone reedy as she approaches the precipice of orgasm, and you can only nod and flutter around her as she commands you from above. When she cries out your name, nearly sobbing, you continue working over your clit with your own fingers to bring yourself to orgasm just behind her, clenching around still fingers. 

Yasril collapses over you, her face buried against your neck as she pants. Your legs are tangled together and she wraps you up into a warm, safe embrace. She’s placing soft, open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw before meeting your lips with her own. The kiss is sensual and languid, full of unspoken love and need. The two of you lay like that for a while, lost in each other and forgetting about everything else in the world. When she disentangles herself from you to grab the bag she’d dropped at the door you go to move, but a slender black hand pushing down on your chest is enough to keep you down on the cushions. “Just… I want to… I need to draw you, draw this. I need to immortalize this moment with you.” She strokes your cheek reverently, and you blush but stay put. 

She comes back with a notebook and a few pencils, sitting down at the other end of the couch from you and caressing the back of one of your calves affectionately before she gets started. She draws for a little while, and you lull into a dreamlike state of contentment, utterly relaxed and spent against the couch. When you see her drawings later, you’re in awe of how she sees you, the serene almost angelic look on your face, the way she’s lovingly rendered every curve of your body. Those drawings, the ones she makes in those intimate moments shared only between the two of you, convey her love for you more effectively than words ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same name! I've got a Discord link up there if you'd like to come and chat with me :)


End file.
